Read At Any Turn (Gaming The System) for Free Online Page B

to at that very moment. My hands crept under her skirt, edging the lacy tops of her thigh-high stockings. My fingers locked around her underwear.
    “I’m good. Thanks,” I grunted. The minute the intercom clicked off, I shredded her panties.
    “From zero to panty-ripping in four minutes,” she laughed as I unzipped my pants. “Maybe I’m not so rusty after all.”
    My hand slid over her wet flesh and my cock surged. “So about those boss-employee fantasies…” I began to stroke her and her eyes rolled back under her lids as she threw her head back, exposing her throat in that way that made me absolutely crazy for her.
    “Told you I don’t have those.”
    “Mmm. Well, I think you’re about to fulfill mine.”
    I slid into her, groaning. She felt like heaven. “God, you feel so fucking good.”
    “Fucking good. That’s what we do. We do fucking good,” she laughed, moving on top of me.
    “We do everything good,” I muttered hoarsely against her mouth.
    I wanted to lose myself in her. Forget all the troubles of the day and immerse myself in all that was Emilia. I remembered that first night I’d brought her to orgasm. We’d been sitting like this. She’d been straddling me on that lounge chair down on the stretch of beach behind my house. I’d shredded her panties then, too, and God, I’d wanted her so badly then that I’d almost thrown away all my convictions and taken her right there.
    I thought back to the moment I’d touched her. The way she’d responded to me, the soft moans and cries as she’d fought to keep herself from being too loud. How she’d buried her face in my shoulder. The way she’d moved, the way she’d breathed. The intensity of her climax. It had intoxicated me. That was the moment I knew it would be impossible to get her out of my blood.
    That night I’d sent her home in a car, still burning for her. I’d worked through the night, trying to get that temporary obsession out of my brain. Fighting to convince myself that it was temporary. But here we were, five months later, and I was every bit as hooked on her now as I was then.
    I grabbed her, leaning forward, and lifted us off the chair, settling her back on my desk as I pushed into her in earnest. She curled her legs around me, pressing against me. And I pushed into her one last time, my orgasm ripping through me in sharp, intense waves.
    I waited a long moment after we were done to reach down between us and finish her. She looked up at me with a languid smile and those gorgeous brown eyes, tightening her legs around me as I stroked her. When she came, her back arched and she pushed her beautiful breasts upward.
    I could watch her come over and over again. It was a thing of raw beauty. But I forced myself to stop, to pull my hand away. When she sat up, we kissed. She hooked her hands around my neck and laughed. “We do do everything good.”
    Afterward, she set a plate of her cookies on my desk and went to pull down the Murphy bed from the wood cabinet and fluffed my pillows. And when I thought she’d collect the dishes and go home as I sat at my desk and revised my official statement before sending it off for approval, she surprised me by curling up on the bed and falling asleep instead.
    I joined her after midnight.
    ***
    For the rest of that week, I was in survival mode. I didn’t allow myself time to think. Time to reflect. I couldn’t allow myself to think about that young man’s family and the debris his destructive actions had left behind.
    To be accused of creating a means for addiction—well, it was personal to me. It cut me to the bone. Because of my history, my own dance with addiction in those closest to me and in myself. I kept it inside like a gremlin, imprisoned under lock and key. But it held the potential to transform into a monster. And there was just a tiny mental gate between who I was and who I could become, immersing myself completely in that world, smothering myself with work to numb the